


So Lucky In Love

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Footnotes, Insomnia, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 09:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Crowley lies awake at 4am, pining.





	So Lucky In Love

Crowley couldn’t sleep.

This wasn’t a problem, per se. Demons don’t need to sleep, but Crowley had gotten used to getting a good eight hours a few nights a week, and he was now approaching a fortnight without. He couldn’t really think of anything to do about it, either. It was an unusually hot summer in England, and while his flat had every modern comfort a flat could have, there were very few buildings in London that had been designed with air flow in mind and this one was no exception.

The bedroom window was open, letting in the occasional breeze and the gentle hum of noise from the city. Crowley’s street, however, was quiet, everybody long since settled in for the night. Sensible of them. He blessed under his breath, shifting against his sheets and punching his pillow into a more comfortable position as he stared up at the ceiling. It was illuminated by the light of the streetlamps outside and by the faint red glow from the radio beside his bed. The clock on the front read 4:12 AM. Crowley sighed. Kylie Minogue’s voice warbled on from out of the radio’s speakers, impervious to his mood or his exhaustion.[1]

Crowley wondered idly what Aziraphale was doing. The angel didn’t sleep, never had to Crowley’s knowledge. What did he do during the night, alone in his bookshop? Read, probably. Or paperwork, Aziraphale had always had an odd fascination with paperwork. At least, it seemed odd to Crowley, but then he tended to view paperwork as an ingenious invention for wasting the time of others, not something that one _actually did_ if one could avoid it. Aziraphale was funny like that, though. He was almost certainly doing something sedate and anodyne, probably with a mug of cocoa. He was probably not lying in bed staring at the slanted ceiling in the upstairs room of his little flat, watching dust mites float through the air and thinking- no, of course not.  Crowley snorted in disgust at himself. Just because he couldn’t sleep and was thinking about the angel didn’t mean the same was true of Aziraphale. What kind of romantic nonsense was that?

Obviously the kind of romantic nonsense that Crowley wanted to continue indulging in, if the radio’s ongoing choices were anything to go by. Crowley glared the little box into silence, then flipped it back on to hear Whitney Houston. It was preferable to the quiet, he grudgingly admitted.

It was a shame Aziraphale didn’t sleep. It might make him a bit less prone to his bouts of snappishness if he rested occasionally. The chances of ever successfully persuading Aziraphale to see it in that light were slim to none, but Crowley entertained himself for several moments imaging Aziraphale sleeping in his dusty little shopfront or at the table in the back room, or on the worn yellow couch upstairs. Just a quick nap. It made Crowley feel both an intolerable fondness and a strange pang of loneliness.

Oh. _Oh._ Did he _miss_ Aziraphale? Was _that_ why he wasn’t sleeping? They saw each other often enough, Crowley thought, frowning up at the ceiling. He’d met Aziraphale for lunch not two days ago. They’d argued about… something, Crowley couldn’t remember the exact topic. It had been an old argument. Familiar and well-worn, nothing unusual. Comfortable. Or at least, that was what Crowley remembered about the argument.

What had they talked about that had made Crowley feel that sort of warm, content feeling looking back? He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall more precisely. All that came to mind was the image of Aziraphale’s eyes crinkling as he smiled across the table. Crowley swallowed, biting back the urge to bless again as the song on the radio changed.

Did Crowley… have… feelings for Aziraphale? _Feelings_ feelings?[2] It was possible, Crowley supposed. All demons had once been angels, and angels were by their very nature capable of great love.

At this thought, Crowley tensed in his bed. It was also entirely possible that Aziraphale already knew how Crowley felt, had known before Crowley had put the pieces together himself, just now, this morning. Why wouldn’t he have said anything?

Unless he didn’t care, Crowley thought miserably, curling on his side and pulling his second pillow to his chest. He stared at the clock. 4:37 AM. The sun would be rising soon. There was already a hazy grey light beginning to come in through the window, the very edge of dawn.

Crowley closed his eyes and let out a frustrated huff of breath when he failed to fall asleep. Soon it would be day time, and he’d have to find something to do with himself. Maybe he’d give the angel a call. Maybe it would make him feel better.

If they’d been humans, if their friendship had been less ancient and valuable and _precious_ to Crowley, he’d go and knock on Aziraphale’s door as soon as possible and tell him what he’d been thinking of. But the truth was, they were all each other had. It was them and their world, and the people in it were important to them, yes, but ultimately could never be more than part of the scenery. Or maybe it was Crowley and Aziraphale who were the backdrop and the humans were the show, Crowley wasn’t sure. The point was, he couldn’t just… barge into Aziraphale’s bookshop at 5 o’clock in the morning[3]. He should wait for the sun to rise, get up and shower, threaten the plants, and then give Aziraphale a call to see if he wanted to go to St James’s Park. Yes. That seemed reasonable.

Crowley threw the sheet off his legs, snapped the radio off with a look that would have turned the real Cyndi Lauper to stone, and hurried out of the room.

He was standing in front of Aziraphale’s front door before the sun had completely risen.

Aziraphale answered his knock with a surprised and slightly concerned look.

“Crowley! What on earth- aren’t you usually asleep at this hour?” His eyes raked up and down Crowley’s body and Crowley realized too late that he hadn’t changed out of the t-shirt and shorts he wore to bed. He miracled the outfit into a button down and pressed black pants with an apologetic shrug.

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

Aziraphale seemed to consider him for a moment, standing in the doorway and squinting against the sun coming up behind Crowley. Then he reached out, placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, and pulled him into the shop without another word, closing the door behind him.

He led Crowley through the shop into the kitchen and nudged him gently down into one of the chairs at the small table. He pulled his own chair so he could peer into Crowley’s face, his palms on his cheeks as he cupped Crowley’s face in his hands. Crowley breath seemed to stick in his throat at the gentle way Aziraphale’s fingers spread across his skin.

“You look awful.” Aziraphale said after a moment, turning away and removing his hands. “Would you like some tea?”

Crowley, still reeling from the brief moment of uncharacteristic closeness, blinked in response. Aziraphale looked back and his eyes crinkled in sympathy.

“Perhaps not, then?”

Crowley found his voice in time to croak out that no, he didn’t want any tea. Aziraphale nodded.

“In that case, come upstairs with me?”

Crowley thought vaguely that he’d come over here with a very definite goal in mind, but when the pair made it up the narrow stairs into the room Aziraphale kept for his computer and filing cabinets, Crowley saw a small bed that he was fairly certain hadn’t been here the only other time he’d been up here.

“Didn’t you, ah…” Crowley swallowed. Why was he having so much trouble with his throat this morning? “Didn’t there used to be a hideous old couch in this room?”

Aziraphale let out a little cough. “Yes, there was until just a moment ago.” He perched on the bed and removed his shoes, and the sweater vest that he was wearing despite the July heat. He patted the bed beside him, and Crowley sat down gingerly and stared at him.

Aziraphale pulled him into a hug and lay down, taking Crowley with him. Crowley let out a small sound of protest and Aziraphale shushed him softly.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley said after several seconds, his tone even.

“Yes, my dear?”

“What are we doing?”

“I believe the current slang for this is ‘spooning’.”

Crowley spluttered. “Yes, alright. _Why_ are we spooning?”

Aziraphale sighed and shifted on the bed so he could turn Crowley to look at him. “You need to sleep.”

Crowley’s eyes roved over Aziraphale’s face, trying to read the expression there. He just looked… soft. The early morning light filtered through the ancient curtains and cast his face in a warm glow. His eyelashes swept down onto his cheeks as he blinked, and Crowley watched them with a kind of reverence. “Technically I don’t need to sleep.” Crowley reminded him.

Aziraphale let out a short huff of irritation. “You should sleep, Crowley.”

“And you’ll, what, hold me while I do?” Crowley refrained from rolling his eyes only because they were almost nose to nose and there was no way Aziraphale would miss it.

“Yes.” He said matter-of-factly.

Well. That hadn’t been what Crowley was expecting.

“You really don’t have-“

“Crowley.” Aziraphale cut him off. “Please go to sleep. I’ll go to sleep too, if it’ll make you feel better.” He shuffled his head around on the pillow for a moment and then closed his eyes, pulling Crowley very slightly closer to him. “There.”

Crowley lay there, in Aziraphale’s arms, feeling absolutely bewildered, but also very, very comfortable. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley?”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth several times. This was rather cozy, actually, and he was feeling properly sleepy for the first time in weeks. He wasn’t in any particular hurry to end it, even for the purposed of having a much-needed conversation. Ah. That was why he’d come over here.

“You know that I love you, right?” Crowley murmured, very glad Aziraphale couldn’t see his face.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s temple and ran his hand down his back. “Yes, my dear. I know that.”

“Oh.” Crowley said with a contented little sigh, snuggling closer and miracling the blanket so it was over them instead of under them as he tucked his head under Aziraphale’s chin. “That’s good.”

Within five minutes, Crowley was sound asleep.

 

* * *

 

[1] In fact, Kylie Minogue was playing specifically because of Crowley’s mood and exhaustion- the few other people across London who were tuned into the same radio frequency were hearing a popular song by The Pet Shop Boys. The demon felt, on some unconscious level, that the proper music to accompany his current unhappiness was a woman singing an upbeat song about heartache.

[2] The real answer to this question was a resounding yes, but Crowley generally felt much more comfortable in the realm of “maybe”, at least when it came to matters that required effort from him.

[3] Crowley thought, mentally already planning to do exactly that.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is just window dressing for the thing which is actually important here which is “crowley lies awake at 4am, pining” the playlist. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/mary.phillips.1895/playlist/6pAj4xUgpDkjmy3vtEwMNc


End file.
